


Herald of Change

by brialavellan



Series: Herald of Change [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Awkward Flirting, Background Relationships, Eluvians, F/F, Past Lavellan/Solas, Political Alliances, Post-Canon, Slow Burn, Well of Sorrows
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-02-22 22:03:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13176129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brialavellan/pseuds/brialavellan
Summary: It has been 20 years since Inquisitor 'Manehn Lavellan defeated Corypheus, and 18 years since the Exalted Council. Solas is furthering his plans and so far, all efforts to stop him seem to be in vain....until the Well of Sorrows begins to speak to ‘Manehn once more. Led by ancient magics and beset by enemies from Ferelden and Orlais to Antiva and Tevinter, 'Manehn must gather allies old and new in a race against time to defeat Solas - at any cost.





	1. Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts - A Reprisal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sudden, unpleasant surprise greets the former Inquisitor and the new Divine at the Winter Palace.

20 years.

Since the rise of Corypheus and his fall.

Since the shock of the Exalted Council and the unmasking of Fen’harel.

 Since the rise and fall of the Inquisition.

 And no one remembered.

Though there was a scar in the sky, a ribbon of lights to remind all of Thedas that the Veil had been ripped apart, the Orlesian nobility had already forgotten, reverting back to their petty squabbles and their delightful diversions of corruption, espionage and murder. Nothing had changed. Empress Celene still held the throne, she still had not picked an heir, and the nobles still whispered of rebellion. Marquise Briala held her lands and title with the tightest grip, in spite of Celene’s waning support. There was no room for elves in the Grand Game.

Except for those who knew how to play.

And tonight, at a soiree honoring the anniversary of the Divine’s ascension, two stood amongst them. A Right Hand and a Marquise.

The Right Hand, with dark copper skin and Elgar'nan's vallaslin, scanned the ballroom, quietly noting the motions and machinations of the servants and nobility alike. She still refused to wear a mask, as she always had, relying on her charm and the good graces she earned - shielded equally by claims of divinity and by powerful allies.

It had been eighteen years since she last set foot into the Winter Palace, yet Josephine’s first words still lingered:

_Every movement, every reaction, is measured and evaluated for weakness._

And it did not help that many were eager to greet their former Inquisitor, purely to test their limits or gauge her power.

Cassandra Pentaghast, now Divine Victoria, sat beside her, dressed in resplendent red and white, a golden Chantry Sunburst emblazoned on her chest and a deep scowl on her face.

“I still do not see why I need to be here,” Cassandra said as she shuffled in her seat, fingers tightly gripping the armrests of her chair, “You and Vivienne were always better at tolerating these sort of….functions.”

“You are the Divine.” ‘Manehn, the former Inquisitor and current Right Hand of the Divine, replied with a small shrug.

“Yes, and therefore I have very little time for sitting like a prized doll for the nobles’s amusement. I do not need their favor.”

“Their favor isn’t the reason you’re here. Your presence keeps the nobles on their toes,” ‘Manehn said, with the slightest tinge of annoyance, “Did you really think your position would mean immunity to the Game? ”

“I merely hoped it would. We don’t have time for this, especially if what you expect to happen will come to fruition.”

‘Manehn pointed back towards the marble walls behind them with a small chuckle, “Well, at least the walls are sturdy for punching if you really need it.”

She motioned to a few guardsmen with a quick wave of her hand, who rapidly rushed to the Divine’s side, taking her place as she stepped off the dais and made her way towards the center of the ballroom. “I’ll even see if I can send an enemy or two your way. Your glare alone could kill on site.”

“In the meantime,” she said, with a wide grin, “I’ll speak with our source.”

* * *

  
Another elf made her way across the ballroom, her cinnamon brown curls braided and pinned into a high bun and her freckled face obscured by a golden mask that highlighted the warm undertones of her tawny skin, nodding politely, making small talk, playing the Game just as deftly and as earnestly as she had done for decades. She approached ‘Manehn with a slight smile.

“My Lady, you’re looking radiant as ever,” ‘Manehn said with a coy smile as she approached, “and you are always a welcome sight.”

“As charming as ever, I see.” Briala replied with a smirk.

“I try.”

“Try harder.”

“Ouch, you wound me. Such barbed and wicked words from such a beautiful woman?” ‘Manehn said, placing her hand over her heart in dramatic fashion.

Briala started laughing, attracting a few glares from surly nobles eager for favor and angered by the elf’s presence. “And how many women fall for these lines?”

“None, my Lady,” ‘Manehn said in a surprisingly tender voice, “I save them for you.”

Briala said nothing as both walked towards the dance floor. ‘Manehn took her hand and they began to dance, Briala effortlessly matching ‘Manehn’s stumbling steps.

“So, was there anything out of the ordinary that you saw?” ‘Manehn said with a sudden crisp tone.

“Nothing yet,” Briala replied with a matching curt affect, “Wherever his spies are, they are well trained. I detect nothing unusual among these servants. Though I know one of his agents is here.”

Briala leaned in as the music slowed to a crawl.

“I leaked false information to three of my agents, an itinerary where I would be vulnerable and be acquiring 'highly sensitive intelligence'. Reinforcements showed up…attempted assassination. It’s likely they planned to frame humans for the murder, leading to a revolt, which would incite a crackdown…”

“Wait….this afternoon?! Why didn’t you tell me?! I could’ve…”

Briala put a finger to her lips to silence ‘Manehn’s protests. “All you would’ve done is tipped them off,” she said, “Especially based on your reaction just now. I can handle one measly assassination attempt. Besides, the nobles here send so many that’s it become tiresome. I schedule time in between various masquerades and traipsing about with you.”

“I guess it won’t be an ordinary visit without an attempted assassination or two.” ‘Manehn replied with deadpan snark.

“An attempted assassination or two is an ordinary visit to every soiree, or has court life made you soft?” Briala teased.

“Now you’re just fucking with me.” ‘Manehn said with a smirk.

“Oh, I would never dream of it.”

“Are you sure about that?” ‘Manehn said with knowing smirk, “... or am I just imagining your hands creeping lower on my hips?”

A bright flush rose in Briala’s cheeks, red enough to show on her olive cheeks as she pulled her hands away, “They were not! And, if we could be serious for one second,” she retorted, “the agent who set up the assassination attempt is likely here, since the first one failed and this soiree was next on my itinerary. But we need to establish who gave the order. I have traced the source to here, but that’s all I know at the moment. I have plenty of enemies.”

“And allies.” ‘Manehn corrected her.

“Never mistake alliances for allies,” Briala said, her tone still serious.

‘Manehn stopped their dance and took Briala’s hands from her hips. “So am I an ally or just a convenient alliance to you?”

“You know that’s not what I meant. I meant that you’re still used to open battles, clear targets, and eliminating them. You also have individuals you can trust to back you up. A war of subterfuge is long, arduous and always uncertain.”

She took ‘Manehn’s hips again and slipped an envelope into her belt as the music came to a stop.

“A map of the grounds. See what you can find. I’ll wait here,” she said between the nobles whistles and claps, “I’ll watch for trouble. I believe I saw Madame de Fer here as well, she could have seen something.”

“And please be careful,” she warned ‘Manehn as she walked away.

* * *

  
‘Manehn retreated to the shadows as the music began once more, all the while seeking hidden blades among placid smiles. She pondered Briala’s words, machinations and motivations. They had worked together for decades, a slow friendship fire-forged after the battle at Mythal’s temple and after the Exalted Council. Yet still, she feared the Game more than she trusted ‘Manehn.  
She stared at the dais, watching Cassandra grow increasingly surly, almost sulking, her fingers now gripping her chair hard enough to steal blood from her fingertips.  
Suddenly, a clear whisper called to her, just enough to hear over the lute players and lushes in the ballroom. A call to action and a warning of danger.

She rushed back to the dais and slipped Cassandra her dagger.

“Keep this for yourself if the guards fail,” she said in an urgent whisper, “I must investigate something, and I don’t want you in danger.”

“What are you talking about?” Cassandra called after her to no avail. ‘Manehn had already rushed across the ballroom and out of sight.

* * *

  
The soft clinking of her armored boots against the gold veined marble sent prickles down her arms, already itching from the heavy fabric and leather armor. She pulled slightly at the leather straps that pinned a blade to what remained of her left arm.

Whether intuition or supernatural forces called to her was irrelevant. ‘Manehn followed the voice that lead and beckoned with urgency, past the gardens, retracing the same steps 20 years prior, when she wore an innocent, less world weary face.

More whispers followed as she entered the guest rooms, this time from three elves. Servants, she thought, as she ducked behind a trellis to catch some remnant of conversation.

_\- Are they in position?_

_\- They better be, we’ve waited FAR too long for this moment._

_\- All of them die tonight. The Divine, the elven Marquise, the Right Hand -_

‘Manehn released the pin on her prosthesis, revealing the silverite blade hidden within her sleeve, and bolted from the shadows as they approached. She slashed at the first attacker, sending him stumbling. Unhooking a small crossbow from her belt, she shot three bolts in the chest of a second and two bolts into the head of a third.

She crouched besides the body of the barely breathing man she had slashed and retrieved a small paper sticking out of his belt. Arrows whizzed by her head and sent her scrambling as a fourth person in hiding tackled her to the ground, pinning her sword arm in place.

“Elgar’nan!” ‘Manehn cursed as she struggled to gain leverage, releasing herself from the elf’s grip with a sharp blow to the temple and a quick thrust of her blade in his belly.

More arrows came and she bolted towards a wall, seeking cover as she searched the line of sight.

Spotting one of the archers, she lifted her crossbow, ready to fire before she heard the crunch of bone and loud screams. A shattering of ice and the clicking of heels on cobblestone followed, and ‘Manehn turned towards the sound of her rescuer. She was dressed in pastel blue and white, with a long silver chain hanging from a graceful neck and protective braids bound into a tight ponytail that swished back and forth as she walked.

“Lady Vivienne…” she addressed the woman with a grin and bow, “your help was appreciated, but I can handle myself, you know.”

“And you’re very welcome, darling,” Vivienne replied with a small knowing smirk. “You might have told me first if you were going to run off and leave me out of the fun.”

“I’m sorry…”

“All is forgiven, my dear. It is better to split our efforts and play to our different strengths,” Vivienne said, “But a word of advice: don’t confuse an ally and an alliance. This is the Game, and she plays it just like everyone else here.”

‘Manehn cocked her head and shot an incredulous look, “Are you talking about Briala, of all people?”

“Just don’t make the same mistake you made years ago - trusting the intentions of a person you didn’t know. We will speak again in -.”

The sound of screams interrupted Vivienne and ‘Manehn.

“Shit! They’re under attack, we have to go!” ‘Manehn cried, grabbing Vivienne’s hand as they raced towards the ballroom.

* * *

The ballroom was utter chaos as Vivienne and ‘Manehn flung open the doors, with nobles fleeing towards the vestibule while Briala and the Orlesian guard were racing to eliminate the attackers. But no attackers were in sight as ‘Manehn searched the ballrooms, eyes squinting and tearing from what felt like fire in her eyes. A thick cloud had settled over the ballroom and along the walls, thick and creeping, searing the eyes and mucous membranes of any and everyone caught in the cloud.

“There’s a mage here as well,” Vivienne said with disgust as she wiped hot tears from her face, “they help sustain this cloud. Be careful.”

Against the wall behind the dais, Cassandra stood fast, dagger at the ready, with blood on her robes and dead guards at her feet.

Another elf appeared from the shadows and quickly stabbed a noble in the back before rushing towards a chevalier with a quick slash at his throat. ‘Manehn stabbed him in the back then rushed towards the dais. The Divine had to be protected, at any cost.

She heard the slightest whistle of a blade in the air by her neck, and slashed at the air, connecting with muscle and bone and revealing another elf as she fell. Another lunged forward but Briala sunk a throwing dagger into the back of his head.

Out of sight, Vivienne quickly cast a large barrier to protect the remaining nobles and guards. She cast another spell to dispel the mist, revealing four confused elves and a stunned human mage, whom ‘Manehn promptly riddled with bolts. The remaining chevaliers sprung into action as well as ‘Manehn and Briala, cutting down the elves that remained.

The screams dulled to dead silence as the nobles that lived took in the sight of elven and human blood, and the Right Hand, Marquise and Arcane Adviser standing triumphant.

None dared to speak until one person separated from the stunned crowd and began to speak as she stepped forward. A Grand Cleric, with wisps of silver and blonde hair sticking out of a disheveled hat and rouge tinted lips that sneered at their elven and mage saviors.

“Thank you. I’m impressed how quickly you dispatched these fiends,” she said in a lilting Orlesian accent that amplified her haughty tone, “It’s almost….too impressive.”

“I was not made Right Hand for show. And this was not the only spy that infiltrated tonight!” ‘Manehn said, producing the piece of parchment she had stolen from the dead elf’s satchel. “These are orders from Fen’harel himself, to murder the Divine and myself.”

Loud murmurs and sudden gasps replaced the stunned silence across the ballroom and beyond.

“And how do you know? What evidence do you have to support these claims?,” she retorted, obviously flustered.

“I know because you’ll find more of these assassins in the courtyard. They tried to kill me first.” Vivienne piped up with the slightest contempt. “It seems that whoever was behind this wants those who oppose him out of the way. Why would he waste his time on us if we supported him? Lady Lavellan has raised her voice to oppose no one except Fen’harel. Maybe it’s time to take the threat seriously.”

She tucked a grey curl back into her hat. “And why was no one warned again, my Lady? Didn’t these same blunders lead to the disbanding of your former Inquisition? Did we not witness this same terror before at your hands? How can we trust you when they are elves as you are!”

“Do I not still champion the Maker’s cause? Do I not serve Divine Victoria, Most Holy, as her Right Hand? Did I not prevent the fall of Orlais, a great lion of a nation that stands against Tevinter? A shining beacon of an empire founded on the principles of the Maker and his Bride? Have I proven otherwise in twenty years? My organization is the only one mobilized against Fen’harel and his allies. Allies who have fallen tonight by my blade.”

The silence turned to cheers from the nobility, roused to action by her fiery speech.

She turned to the cleric, a defiant gleam in her eye, “Or do you know something about our enemy’s movements that I do not?”

“Let’s do another sweep before everyone leaves,” ‘Manehn said, still glaring at the Grand Cleric, “I don’t think that’s all of them.”

The rest of the gaurd rushed to action, leading the nobles away as ‘Manehn returned to Cassandra’s side.

“Looks like you got your wish after all, in the worst way possible,” she said, repentant. “I did not mean to abandon you.”

“My life matters little now if Solas has finally made a move,” Cassandra said, stone-faced and grim, “we have to consider our options carefully. I would ask you to pull all of our resources that remain.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” ‘Manehn said as she ushered Cassandra out of the palace towards a carriage. “However, I think we have to tread lightly. Enemies abound here.”

* * *

  
The Grand Cleric returned to the Grand Cathedral humiliated and red-faced, near fuming. The other mothers scattered out of the way as she approached, followed with low whispers and scandalized gasps.

She flung open the door to her quarters and immediately stumbled back, shocked to see an elven woman sitting on her bed. She was fair, like Natalie, with light brown hair braided tight against her scalp and her brown eyes set close together, gazing out the window behind her.

“I’m not happy with your performance, knife ear!,” Natalie snapped.

“Katrina,” the agent said, her back still turned. “And Fen’harel is just as displeased, if not more, shemlen.”

“You didn’t hold up your end of the bargain. I told you I needed more assassins in that garden but only my agents were there!” Natalie screamed as she stormed towards the agent. “You’re supposed to work with me! you were supposed to - !”

The elf turned towards her, face blank of all emotion minus the smallest haughty smirk. “I did absolutely nothing wrong by standing back and watching you orchestrate your own downfall.”

“We could’ve eliminated the Right Hand and her Divine EASILY if you would’ve…..”

“No.”

“No?!”

“We could’ve let her continue to fade into irrelevance until she loses whatever political clout she has left by clinging to the Divine’s robes,” Katrina said, pacing around the increasingly flustered Cleric, “we could’ve waited for Celene to use that moment to formally withdraw her support from Briala without upsetting the Chantry and the Divine in any meaningful way. And then you would play your role expertly and all the pieces would fall perfectly into place.”

She stopped and leaned against the wall.

“Instead,” she continued, her tone as cool as it was patronizing, “your foolish shortsightedness almost got your cover blown, has now galvanized them into taking harsher action against anyone suspected of being one of our agents…..AND Lady Lavellan has used your failure as her opening to leading the forces the nobles now wish to raise. And all you have to show are one dead mage and nine dead elves. Some of who,” Katrina said with the slightest snarl, “were ours.”

“Don’t you dare place all of the burden on me!” Natalie said. “Doesn’t this ‘Solas’ not want both the so-called Herald and the Marquise eliminated as well?”

“He wants them disgraced, not dead,” Katrina replied. “If you kill them, how many alienages can you possibly purge? Can you stop an entire continent of elves rising against you?”

“I am less and less hesitant to wonder the longer your master drags his heels,” Natalie snapped back. “I am also more convinced he does not move against that heathen for…..sentimental reasons.”

“Death makes martyrs,” she said, folding her arms, “And trust me Natalie, the thing you want even less than an elven Herald, Right Hand or Marquise, is an elven martyr. The elves will invoke Mien’harel, and you will see your Cathedral, your throne, your entire country burned to ashes. Just proceed as planned. We don’t need much more time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a project over two YEARS in the making, and I'm finally starting!  
> Updates might not be very frequent, as this is still a WIP as I go along. I just didn't want to wait another year to start working on this.  
> Please leave comments and kudos if you enjoyed this so far! I love any and all type of feedback!!!!!


	2. Lead Them or Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the surprise attack on the Winter Palace, 'Manehn, Vivienne and Cassandra plan their next steps. 
> 
> Mirwen, 'Manehn's daughter, finally gets her chance to start proving herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elain Lavellan (who will have a more prominent role) belongs to saarebitch. Please check out her amazing fic "Exalted" on AO3

Briala had not visited the Grand Cathedral in many years. Not by choice and never for Faith. The gold, grim statues of Andraste and the glittering stained glass windows sent shivers up her back as she passed by them. Two Chantry mothers were standing nearby, giggling and pointing as she approached, bandying the word “knife ear” back and forth with enough vigor and volume for everyone to hear. Especially Briala. They were obviously young and naïve, likely lesser siblings of lesser houses, and Briala could tell they would not have lasted a day in Court. 

They were tactless and tasteless, this petty display all purely designed to humiliate her. 

She should have kept walking.

Instead, Briala stopped for a second to address them, “Good evening, sisters,” she said curtly, with just enough annoyance in her voice to simultaneously scandalize and shame them.

They glanced at her in shock, then skittered off, whispering hurried blessings to the Marquise as a blush began to freckle both of their faces.

Briala beamed. She did not always stoop to such petty displays of power, but time and her title had made her bolder, to the discomfort of many.

Well, almost everyone.

Briala kept walking, eventually reached a small two story building in the far right corner of the grounds, housing for the Hands that served the Divine. This was where ‘Manehn and her daughter, Mirwen, had taken residence since the Inquisition had been disbanded.

She had barely rapped on the door when ‘Manehn ushered her inside.

“I saw you talking to those Chantry sisters,” ‘Manehn said with a smirk as she entered the apartment, “they looked like they were going to leap right out of their robes.”

“Elves with titles still shock.” Briala replied with a small shrug as they ascended the stairs towards ‘Manehn’s private study, “and some have to be reminded that our titles aren’t meaningless.”

“And someone just likes to see Chantry mothers squirm just a little bit,” ‘Manehn said with a coy smile, “but it’s hard not to be flustered by a woman with such poise and grace.”

Briala smiled back but said nothing as they approached the study.

 

* * *

The Divine’s Apartments were a thing of beauty, opulent to the point of ostentatious. Every room nearly glittered from crystal chandeliers, polished marble, Serault stained glass, and gilded gold trim on every piece of furniture and along every surface. In extreme contrast, ‘Manehn’s study was sparsely decorated, containing only large mahogany bookshelves stuffed to the brim with books and loose parers, and a single, spartan wooden desk. Her dagger and prosthetic laid on top of the desk, along with a whetstone and a bloody cloth, which had been used to scrape away the bits of dried blood from the day before.

A small bed sat in the corner, well used from the many times ‘Manehn’s work had kept her sequestered in her study for days at a time.

“18 years,” ‘Manehn said as she sat at her desk, “and he waited this long to make a move in Orlais?”

“Maybe he’s waiting for all of us to die of old age,” Briala said wryly, as she sat across from her, “it would certainly help his plans if you were out of the way.”

“Well, he’s immortal, he has all the time in the world,“ ‘Manehn said, brushing her hair back, exposing the small slivers of gray sparsely sprinkled through her short black hair. “Me, not so much.”

“But are his followers willing to wait?” Briala asked. “Some may tire of waiting so long for the future he promises. I don’t need intel to know that there are fractures we could exploit.”

“Well, whatever future they think they’re getting, they’ll be a teeny bit disappointed.” ‘Manehn said, leaning back in her chair. “But all that’s irrelevant when I have no reliable leads, and no credible reports on his activities, machinations, or even his whereabouts….”

She plucked a piece of parchment from a drawer on her desk and handed it to Briala.

“Was this the evidence you found about elves working with Fen’harel?” Briala asked.

“No idea,” ‘Manehn said with a sly grin, “but it shut the Grand Cleric up.”

“Clever,” Briala said with a small smile, plucking a bloodstained parchment from her small satchel and placing it on the desk. “From the agent who betrayed me yesterday.”

“Does it have any useful information?”

“I have no idea. It’s in a cipher. Probably the same cipher as the one on the note you found.”

“Can you break the cipher?”

“Maybe. In a few weeks,” Briala said with a slight shrug of her shoulders. “Besides, the cipher has very likely been changed, based on how the paper is relatively aged.”

“So, we have nothing but a useless piece of paper and a bunch of dead elves,” ‘Manehn said, with obvious annoyance.

“So pessimistic,” Briala teased, “Don’t you want a lead on past activities? This is the closest thing to a history on his movements or objectives that we would have.” She took the paper and showed it to ‘Manehn. “For example, we know his agents are foolish enough to not burn their correspondence.”

“And depending on the disorganized mess that was the previous assassination attempt,” Briala continued, “this might be a disaffected group, gone rogue. Maybe they aren’t his at all.”

‘Manehn leaned back in her seat, contemplating Briala’s words. “Could they be ours? As in ‘recruit them’?”

“I doubt it. They are likely very angry with him, feel he’s lied and betrayed them -”

“Oh yeah? His allies feel betrayed and like he’s lied to them? How shocking,” ‘Manehn said, her voice steeped in bitterness.

Briala shook her head. “You need to stop carrying this burden.”

“I would, if others would let me.”

“Vivienne doesn’t care, or the Divine. In fact, do  _any_  of your friends care?” Briala reached across the desk with an outstretched hand, “I don’t care. I want you to put this away. Anger only carries you for so long.”

“Unless you have nothing left to replace it with,” ‘Manehn said before rising to her seat and walking towards the door. 

“Do we have any other business?”

Briala shook her head.

“Feel free to stay as long as you like, of course,” ‘Manehn said, “or you can come to the meeting later. Your choice.”

“’Manehn, I -” Briala tried to call after her, but she was already gone. She placed her head in her hands and let out a long exasperated sigh.

_I do understand. More than you know._

 

* * *

‘Manehn left her apartments and walked towards the Grand Cathedral. Every step felt like quicksand. Her head throbbed with a dull pain, her eyes still slightly burned from the toxic cloud cast last night, and the stump of her left arm was tender and swollen. She had never felt so aged, so powerless in so many years.  The dull pain mixed with self doubt, swirling around and haranguing her. She quickened her pace, a futile attempt to escape from the sickening swelling in her chest, until she heard a voice call from the nearby garden.

“’Manehn!”

She turned and saw Vivienne, now dressed in red and white, her braids pinned into a large bun that rested comfortably on top of her head, gently waving her over as a small sister with cream-colored blonde hair and a progressively whitening face squirmed in place, like a mouse in a sickly, sticky trap.

‘Manehn promptly changed course and greeted Vivienne with a small bow, eyes glancing at the scared sister standing next to her.

“Good to see you again in much more pleasant settings,” she turned towards the Chantry sister, now shaking in place, “and hello to you as well, sister.”

The scared sister gave a panicked yelp, returning her greeting with a flurry of frightened apologies. 

“You may go now, my dear,” Vivienne said, with the slightest snarl and a matching smile. “Give my regards to Carolina.”

‘Manehn could barely stifle her laughter as they walked to a secluded spot, a stone bench beneath blossoming cherry trees where both spent many days over many years, before both had gray hairs and wrinkles at their eyes.

“Might I ask exactly what heinous crime that sister committed?” ‘Manehn asked, with no small amount of delight, “She has so little color left in her, I almost believed for a second that you literally murdered her.”

“As opposed to metaphorically, I assume?” Vivienne said.

“Your tongue turned against an enemy was always more terrifying than your magic.”

Vivienne laughed, bringing her hand delicately to her face to hide her smile. “Don’t trouble yourself. She was just a fool with little sense, and even less dignity.” 

“Should I?,” ‘Manehn said, with some incredulity. “She obviously caused me great offense.”

“And the offense she cause me was greater,” Vivienne said. “She tried to play the Game against a person who is defenseless, who never leaves these grounds unless I am with her, and who is, again, wearing shades and patterns almost thee years out of style because she is not allowed to keep up.”

“You’re talking about my daughter.”

“Who you also have yet to bring to court in any capacity of importance,” Vivienne added. “She is eighteen now, is she not? You cannot protect her from the Game, my dear. She is playing whether she is here or not. The sister wished to play. I cannot be her intermediary. I cannot play for her.” 

“She’s still too young,” ‘Manehn said, an immediate and swift protest to the notion. “They’ll tear her apart.”

“Then you must teach her how to defend herself,” Vivienne said, with greater sternness. “Do you honestly believe they don’t whisper the same slurs that they do here? She is an intelligent, insightful and measured young woman with plenty of wit and a quiet, unassuming charm that would put many nobles dangerously at ease. She would do far better than you think. Now let us leave before Cassandra's impatience overwhelms her.”

There was nothing but contemplative silence between them both at they made their way in the Cathedral, to Divine Victoria’s study.

 

* * *

“I have two things to say,” ‘Manehn said and she pushed open the solid oak doors with her shoulder, “I’m sorry I left you alone and I’m quite impressed.”

“I know to use a blade!” Cassandra said in protest.

“No, I mean, with the ceremony,” ‘Manehn said with a small laugh. “I know it’s something you hate, and I know Vivienne had to convince you….actually…” ‘Manehn turned back to Vivienne, “how did you convince her?”

“Because she knows it is what must be done, whether she likes it or not,” Vivienne said with a smile and a soft glance, “one of your many positive attributes as Divine.”

“And you have been a more-than-sufficient advisor to me - I mean, to the Chantry on the Circle and magic,” Cassandra said with a small blush rising to her cheeks as she stumbled on her words.

 “If we could,” ‘Manehn said, “we have to go over a few things. We should probably, for example, talk about the assassination attempt that just happened.”

“And Grand Cleric Natalie’s attempt to deflect attention from herself,” Vivienne added. “The guilty dog barks the loudest. She should be carefully watched.”

“I know she has always spoken very poorly of you, ‘Manehn,” Cassandra began, “but she has been one of the Chantry’s strongest supporters. Would she really gain so much?”

“If she can blame your death on her, certainly. We can’t mistake an alliance for an ally.” Vivienne turned by towards ‘Manehn with a strong reprimanding tone. “And I know you’re still used to doing things your way. I understand. But, in all respects, we serve the Divine first. We cannot afford a wasted opportunity or a careless mistake because you feel yourself a martyr for a cause we all have a stake in.”

“Vivienne, I -”

“Ran off and left Cassandra vulnerable when I was already scouting for signs of malcontents,” Vivienne said, “trust us to do our jobs and you should do yours.”

“Of course,” ‘Manehn said with a slight glare. 

“Speaking of mlacontents, I assume you’ve found something in that note?”

“No idea,” ‘Manehn said, “it could be a recipe for Orlesian lamb for all I know. We’ll decrypt it. Not in enough time to gain actionable intelligence of course.” Vivienne and Cassandra shook their heads, “and that’s if it’s not an attempt to redirect our attentions to the wrong - AAAAHHH!!!!”

‘Manehn fell to the floor, a loud ringing and a pulsing pain filling her skull, screaming NO at a furious pace. Vivienne and Cassandra rushed to her side, but the spell had already passed.

Unwilling to frighten them further about magics they were already uncomfortable with, ‘Manehn merely stood up and waved them off, “Sorry, probably too little water,” she said. Cassandra and Vivienne looked at her with suspicious glances but said nothing. 

“Our agents would be able to confirm so, correct.”

“Briala’s and Charter’s, yes,” ‘Manehn said. “I’m certainly no spymaster. However, Davhalla has been kind enough to give me an update on events from the last Arlathvhan.”

“And?” Cassandra said expectantly, ”surely they wouldn’t care about allies if this is their evil God from their legends.”

“A lot of them still hate me, a lot of them don’t want to help the Chantry under any circumstance, and I don’t think we could raise any sort of sizable army or even an alliance with the Dalish.” ‘Manehn said, shrugging her shoulders, “Not unless the Scion of Andruil gives her blessing. If she demanded it, they would rise. ”

“And the Blades of Andruil you mentioned before?”

“Will always help against a great cause. But they aren’t an army. And I’ve probably alienated the Scions just by calling for their assistance.”

“I’ve never seen a more fickle people in my life,” Cassandra muttered.

“And it required treaties and arm twisting to raise enough humans for a Blight, did it not?” ‘Manehn retorted, “it seems Davhalla and her supporters will have to do some arm-twisting as well. Keeper Lanaya, Hawen, Solan - mainly Southern clans, they’d be more willing. The Scions, especially Elain, could coax the rest of them to battle...”

“Just use what you can,” Vivienne said “I have my connections in the Court, we’ll have more resources yet.”

“And the Chantry has the Templars as well as the Mages,” Cassandra added. “I want to make sure we use them wisely.”

 

* * *

It was afternoon when ‘Manehn finally dared to attempt to speak with her daughter. She was not particularly thrilled by the idea, not because of lack of love, but because Mirwen would be angry with her. As usual.

She rapped on the door, once, twice, a third time before Mirwen answered.

“Come in,” she called out.

‘Manehn cracked the door open and was greeted by a surly face and an icy glare.

Mirwen was a muted version of her mother in all respects. Her skin was a lighter tan with a sprinkle of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Her eyes were smaller and a light indigo with faint yellow flecks like gold-leaf and her hair was a mousy brown shaped into a mop of barely contained curls - a sharp contrast to her mother’s striking black hair, bright eyes, and beautiful dark copper hue. Few features gave away even the slightest hint of an identity of the father except her mannerisms. ‘Manehn took no credit for her daughter’s soft spoken, intelligent and thoughtful demeanor that rarely gave way to impulse and anger.

She was easy to hide under her mother’s shadow.

And both of them had preferred it this way. Mirwen had wanted to stay as far away from attention as possible, as much as ‘Manehn was unwilling to let attention be drawn to her.

But that long protective shadow had begun to creep and constrain Mirwen, and comfort had been replaced by restlessness as she grew from childhood to almost-adulthood. What was once refuge and sanctuary had become a gilded cage. And the harder Mirwen fought to break free, the tighter ‘Manehn’s grip would become.

Therefore, her response, and her first words to her mother in days, were no surprise.

“It might have helped you to have another mage there in attendance, like myself, instead of leaving the Divine.”

“She’s well protected, da’len. I am trained. I’m not useless in a fight anymore.”

“I have been trained all my life in all magics short of blood magic and I am just to sit here all my days unless Vivienne convinces you to let me outside for once?”

‘Manehn clenched her teeth, “You are -”

“Am I your daughter or your lapdog, Mother?”

“Too  _young.”_ ‘Manehn snapped.“Far too young and inexperienced in the Game  _or_  battle to treat it with the seriousness it deserves.”

“ I will not learn if you do not involve me. I only wish to -”

“And you’re  _definitely_ too youngto get involved in war!” ‘Manehn promptly cut her off. “Just because many children do go to war doesn’t mean they should. I’m not sending you on the battlefield”

“You cannot shield me forever. Not if Solas wins.”

‘Manehn let out a long sigh. She was right, of course. They were right. She looked at Mirwen with sad, weary eyes. This was not what she had planned for her - a future of conflict. “This is not a fight for children, and not a fight you should even be involved in.”

“No, it is not, but I don’t want to wait to die, Mamae,” Mirwen said, her tone soft and comforting. She knew her mother’s reluctance was out of love, at least. Even if she hated it. Even if she wished nothing more than to rid the world of this existential threat. 

‘Manehn finally relented.

“ ** _If_  **there is an opportunity to use your talents or train you in the Game,” she said, “I will involve you. I don’t want you near a battlefield, but you’re smart enough that I see no reason that you can’t help with research. If you want.”

Mirwen rushed towards her mother and wrapped her in a warm embrace, incredibly uncharacteristic, but ‘Manehn returned it gladly.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” 

A small shudder crawled up ‘Manehn’s back as Mirwen gleefully raced past her and towards the vestibule. She had known enough regret and pain. She did not wish Mirwen to know even a fraction of what she could. 

For her sake. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all enjoyed this next chapter. I was able to get it over with very quickly, and I'm sort of surprised at myself for that. We'll see things moving forward soon though, I promise. Updates might not be very frequent, as this is still a WIP as I go along. I just didn't want to wait another year to start working on this. Ideally, this will finish before DA4 comes out and ruins all of my canon.
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos if you enjoyed this so far! I love any and all type of feedback!!!!!


	3. Eyes in Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mirwen gets to work. 'Manehn receives a lead from Davhalla and Varric. Natalie and Katrina's alliance is further threatened by mistrust.

Katrina walked the paths in the Gardens of the Grand Cathedral, waiting for Briala to emerge from the Apartments. She could not help but glare in the direction of the Grand Cathedral itself, bitterly remembering all it represented to her, how she despised that the Inquisitor, the best hope for elven self-determination, would stoop to working with Briala, and how she despised herself for allying with Natalie de Morelle, one of the worst of the social climbers and petty double-crossing sycophants.

All lies. Always lies.

She was tired of lies. When Solas came to her, after the Inquisitor had saved the life of a genocidal didn’t-deserve-the-title-of Empress and put her pet lover in charge of the Dales, and offered a place among his spies, she was confounded. How could he betray the same woman everyone knew was his lover?

His ambitions for the elves were stronger than his feelings for even those he loved. He would sacrifice everything, anyone, he said, for a better future for the Elvhen.

The tremor in his voice spoke to pure honesty and sincerity.

It was easy to slip among the Inquisition’s spies, but even easier to stay among Briala’s. To stay where she was trusted, even if Briala saw her as disposable. She was protected by the Inquisition, for a time, for the information she had on Briala’s time as Celene’s pet.

And it was all for naught. The Inquisitor wrangled a begrudged granting of a title from Celene, and it was bestowed on the elf who deserved it the least.

Was she more expendable under Solas? Probably. She was his most trusted, his lieutenant, but she never forgot his answer at the Winter Palace. And she never forgot the harlequin she was sure Briala sent to eliminate her.

And to die serving his cause was better than to die for Briala’s.

She promptly stood at attention as Briala walked towards her, the slightest furrowing of her brow, obviously troubled. Decades of the Game meant that the slightest reaction was an amplification. And Briala was worried sick.

“Would we be able to crack that cipher you found?” Katrina asked, prying for the answer.

“Maybe,” Briala said, gripping the papers tightly in her fist. “I must try.”

“I could take a look, perhaps,” Katrina offered, extending a hand.

“No, this is something I should do personally.” Briala said, and placed the papers back in her satchel, “I’m more concerned that these papers are useless than about decrypting the cipher itself.”

“That’s true,” Katrina replied with the slightest tremor in her throat. It seems Briala would not give this up easily, “it is probably pure misdirection.”

Briala glanced at her for a quick second before handing her a key.

_Damn._

“I need you to sneak in Natalie de Morelle’s quarters,” Briala said, “and I need you to find anything that could possibly incriminate her. Proof those elves were hired by her, proof she hired the mage. Bring it all to me.”

“Of course,” Katrina said with the sickliest smile. “I heard what she did at the Winter Palace. I look forward to exposing her. She seems a fool who overplayed her hand.”

“Don’t presume a thing,” Briala said, with curtness, “she can’t be that stupid.”

“I apologize,” Katrina said, “I was just thinking that we both have been…consistently surprised.”

* * *

 

Mirwen slowed her pace as she approached the exit to the Apartments. She could not contain her excitement when her mother finally relented, but now was not the time for this childish enthusiasm. She was lucky her outburst did not cause her mother to rescind this modicum of freedom.

Regardless of whether she was on the field or not, this was war.

And Mirwen did not plan to waste a moment sitting idle, especially considering the advantages she had since birth. She was raised in finery unlike any elf before her, received the best training in magic, rhetoric, and academics that her mother could buy, and was given free reign to practice her magic outside the stale confines of a pointless Circle.

She needed to excel.

In all things.

She straightened her shoulders, arched her back and tucked her hands together as she left the Apartments and strolled along the walkway towards the Libraries. Several Chantry mothers snickered at her as she passed. Their jeers did not sting so much, but she would have to strike against them at some point. Strike quickly and without mercy, a wise lesson she had learned from Vivienne, from her mother, even from Solas.

Hesitation and doubt was another weakness.

She arrived at the Cathedral library, and opened the doors, greeted by the pungent smell of parchment and and a sneering Chantry brother peering at the young elf through wire-frame glasses.

“You do not have business here,” he said, in harsh and haughty Orlesian. “This is for restricted materials banned —”

“I do have business here when my mother seeks information from these collections and has sent me specifically to gather them.” She responded effortlessly with equal resolve. “You heard of the events in Halamshiral? Surely you don’t wish to deny the Right Hand of the Divine herself every advantage…”

“But - ”

“Or I can always request special dispensation from the Divine herself,” Mirwen continued, “if, of course, you are willing to pull her away from her Holy work….”

“Go ahead,” the brother snapped at Mirwen, glaring as she walked past with the effortless grace that Vivienne had taught her.

She would deal with whatever anger or ire she earned from her deception. She was meant to be here, at this moment. She would find a key to stopping Solas here.

She scoured each shelf as the sun trailed across the sky, fading into twilight, furiously scanning every page for any mention of matters of the Fade, every reference to Fen’harel, and most importantly, any mention of eluvians.

Briala had lost her network over a decade ago, as ‘Manehn had warned her. She lost her eluvians and one third of her spies, trapped either in the places between the Fade or killed wherever they had been stranded in the vast corners of Thedas, mostly by Solas’s own spies. He had eyes and ears everywhere, could set up ambushes anywhere, and ambush anyone he pleased. And time was always on his side.

He could wait forever if he had to.

There was constant discussion about what to do with the network. They had asked the Qunari for assistance, Iron Bull noting that they had cracked a section of the network independently. They refused. They scoured countless Circle libraries for solutions at Vivienne and Dorian’s suggestion. They found none. Sympathetic Dalish clans sent everything they knew, which was little. Whatever answers Briala could give, she had given everything.

And they still had no counter.

This was the place to start, she figured. If they could find a counter, if they could take back the network, or at least keep it from Solas, that would deliver a serious blow.

She would give anything, do anything, to stop him.

All she needed was knowledge.

* * *

 

The sun streams in the sky had tinged the clouds a next-day bruise purple when ‘Manehn returned to her study with a few missives and a near-debilitating headache. Since the Exalted Council, her network of contacts had grown, just enough to receive some information, not too large as to be infiltrated again.

At least, that was ‘Manehn’s hope.

Dorian was still in Minrathous and assuring her everything was fine. Iron Bull was in Trevis, warning ‘Manehn that Dorian was sugarcoating the situation (though he wouldn’t say more). Sera was haranguing a few nobles in Val Firmin, only somewhat convinced that she could work for “sodding new nobles” like Briala without completely losing all integrity. That she “could have cake and throw it too” as she stated. Blackwall was still among the Wardens. He never told her anything related to Solas, and half the note was redacted, but ‘Manehn always appreciated a letter from Blackwall more than the messages from the others. Not out of favoritism or disdain.

It was just the one thing that wasn’t, that couldn’t be, work anymore. That didn’t leave her hanging her head in frustration or quaking with rage.

Among two of the missives that caught her eye was a message from Davhalla and Varric. Both mentioned eluvians, and both mentioned names.

Davhalla had sent a missive about her clan encountering the Sabrae clan near Starkhaven - and learning the truth of an old tale about the disappearance and death of two of Clan Sabrae’s hunters and the First who tried to restore the harbinger of their terrible fates.

The First had tried to rebuild a corrupted eluvian. With blood magic.

But it was not the scandal of exile that shocked ‘Manehn. She had heard the rumors, second, third, fourth hand accounts, told and retold so often that the details were lost.

It was the name.

Merrill din Sabrae.

Friend of the Champion, and more importantly, friend of Varric Tethras.

She had been exiled from the clan for many years but was last residing in Kirkwall. Davhalla had offered to meet her in the city, to seek Merrill out personally, to find answers about the eluvians that ‘Manehn could not get from anywhere or anyone else. Someone with a Keeper’s knowledge would be a valuable asset, if she would choose to be such an asset.

Coincidentally, the other missive was from Varric. An invitation to Kirkwall, as usual. What was unusual was the urgency.

The letters had gone from good-natured prodding to a deeply personal appeal.

‘Manehn hesitated to reply, hesitated to even entertain the thought of such a trip. She could not flit off to Kirkwall on a moment’s notice, not when things were so grave here. Nor could she trust to leave her daughter alone anymore. She could not protect her.

Eyes were everywhere. She felt them on her back, saw them in the dark corners where the light did not reach, where darkness thrived. She heard not only the whispers in her head, the ones that grew louder with time, that occasionally crowded and drowned her own thoughts, but whispers in darkness, of sedition, of assassination, of dark thoughts never to see the light until they would strike. She saw the glares from Chantry mothers and sisters and the daggers in their eyes. Enemies were everywhere, could be anywhere, and she didn’t know where to start looking.

Kirkwall provided a lead, if not an answer. And surely she could honor Varric’s request by bringing Mirwen.

 _Some time before I die of old age_ , he wrote as a little quip.

And she could only be safer traveling at her mother’s side.

She jumped at the slight creaking of her study door as Briala entered with a candle in one hand and a note in the other. “I’m sorry I disturbed you,” she said, whispering as she set the candle down on the desk. “I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“I’m sorry —” ‘Manehn began, but Briala hushed her.

“You don’t have to explain.” She motioned towards the bed that sat behind her desk. “May I sit?”

‘Manehn turned around. “Of course.”

Briala sat down and folded her hands in her lap, slightly biting her lip as she considered, carefully, what she wished to say. ‘Manehn did too, if only to stifle the swelling in her heart as she gazed at the woman who sat before her, always so poised, so graceful, with a refinement that ‘Manehn could never hope to match. Her skin looked almost golden against the candlelight, the yellow flicker of flame highlighting the soft cinnamon highlights in her dark brown curls. She was utterly radiant, she —

“Did you hear me?”

“I’m sorry,” ‘Manehn said with a wink. “I was distracted by your beauty.”

Briala shook her head. “I’m being serious,” she snapped at her.

“I’m sorry.”

“I think it might have been a bit…impulsive to involve Mirwen in this task. She is eager, yes, but still young.”

“I can’t lock her away forever.” ‘Manehn said with a weary sigh, “and I can’t always keep her safe. She doesn’t want to wait quietly for death. I wouldn’t either.”

“And involving her in research?”

“She’s quite intelligent and it keeps her away from a battlefield,” ‘Manehn said, “and after Halamshiral, I don’t believe anywhere is safe. I plan to go to Kirkwall and to take Mirwen with me.”

“Why Kirkwall?” Briala asked, with a slight tilt of her head.

“I have a lead. And possibly a chance for answers,” ‘Manehn said, “and maybe a method to get your eluvians back.”

Briala smiled at that. “Ok, I trust your judgment.” She rose from the bed and softly placed a hand on ‘Manehn’s shoulder. “Just please be careful. I don’t want to hear that either of you were hurt. Or I’ll hurt you myself.”

She let her hand linger there on her shoulder, just a moment, just long enough to savor what was, not long enough to push for more. Worn and weary eyes stared back at hers, a deep gaze she could drown in, hard and harsh but when she looked at her…

“I’m sorry,” Briala said, moving her hand quickly away. “I’ll stay here and keep tabs on Natalie. You find answers for us. I’ll let Vivienne and Cassandra know what you plan.

She forced a smile as she left but her stomach dropped with every step she took. Something was very wrong in Kirkwall, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that ‘Manehn and Mirwen were walking into a viper’s pit.

* * *

 

It was close to midnight when Katrina set our for Grand Natalie’s quarters. She slinked past a few sleepy templars and some giggling initiates before she made it to her door. She turned the brass key halfway until she heard a loud “click” of the gears sliding into place. She heard a shuffle of sheets and frightened footsteps. That was a bad sign. It meant she was skittish, not stalwart like before.

_A bad alliance._

She opened the door. “Briala is onto you,” Katrina snapped as Natalie fumbled to tidy herself. “Your petty feuds would have been resolved easily with patience and time. Neither of which you have anymore.”

“How long do I have to wait? So far, all you’ve given me is empty promises. I don’t play the Game to wait,” Natalie said, crossing her arms, “I play to win”.

“If that is true, then surely you have not saved our correspondence, is that right?” Katrina said, ambling towards Natalie with a sickly grin. “Briala sent me to bring everything you have between us.”

“Then you wouldn’t mind me taking a look?”

“Of course not.”

Katrina scoured every inch of the spartan and sparse room, looking in every crack and crevice, through drawers and vestments and even along every seam of her mattress and sheets. She saw nothing.

“You take me for a fool,” Natalie said “I’ve played longer that you’ve been off your mother’s tit.”

Katrina glared at Natalie but said nothing. Once her curiosity was sated, she left.

When she was sure Katrina was gone, Natalie crawled under her bed towards the smallest of crevices and retrieved a loose stone, containing little scraps of paper. Evidence of Katrina’s betrayal and Briala’s ignorance. If she would not have her way, if she would be caught, if the worst was to pass, she would not go quietly. She would take Katrina, Briala, all of these menacing elves with their uppity ideals and heretical undermining of the Chantry, of the Light of the Maker, and of the glory of Andraste, down with her. She would stop the encroaching of the darkness. She would show them the true power of the Maker, of Andraste, of the Exalted, of the righteous.

She straightened her back, lit a candle, strode over to her desk and went to work on her next sermon.

She would _make_ them see.

Her marks on the page were bold, full of fire and fury and big bold strokes to match the zeal that blinded and deafened her. Deafened her so she did not hear the footsteps that signaled Katrina’s reapproach. Blinded her so she did not see the careful sliding and slipping into place so she could see underneath the door, and underneath the bed, and into that loose crevice with the slightly removed stone and the pieces of evidence sticking out of the slot.

But Katrina had eyes and ears everywhere. She would show her displeasure against those who dared to defy her.

She would return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this was a meandering and kinda short chapter but I promise things are gonna pick up from here with some familiar faces and some new ones as well.
> 
> Please leave kudos if you liked this, it REALLY helps encourage me to continue writing more.


	4. En Passant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Manehn and Mirwen both go to Kirkwall to find out the situation has begun to deteriorate, in more ways than one

Davhalla watched as roiling clouds curled around Sundermount’s peaks, the wind pausing as they approached, the smell of rain wafting through the humid summer air. It was not a fortuitous sign but there would be no good time to leave.

And it was even less wise to stay.

Da’enansal stood next to her, still sulking and still angry.

“At least let me come with you.” He said, desperate for any type of concession from his stalwart yet stubborn half-sister. “You’re still our Keeper, you shouldn’t be going off alone. Hana might be ready to assume your position if the worst comes to pass, but you shouldn’t be inviting the worst to happen by putting yourself in peril! I have such a bad feeling about this….”

Davhalla ignored him and continued packing. It was useless to argue with him. He wouldn’t see the necessity. No one in the clan would.

“Don’t be like that.” Da’enansal crossed his arms and tapped his foot impatiently. “You could at least try to explain yourself instead of being passive aggressive and bullheaded.”

“Said the grown man sulking like a child,” Davhalla snapped, turning to face him. “I have to leave.”

“No, you don’t! Will you at least listen to me?”

She approached the aravel of the hahren, Da’enansal following, both taking deep breaths as she gently rapped on the frame of the aravel.

“Ellathim,” Davhalla said “I have something important to tell you.”

“Da’enansal tapped her shoulder. “Are you crazy?,” he whispered, “no one is gonna accept what you’re doing. Just drop this and stay. You’re doing enough.”

Ellathim emerged from the tent, and bade Davhalla and Da’enansal to follow him to the hearth. Both reluctantly agreed.

He sat at the hearth, mumbling about his sore back and being bothered, but eventually settled down enough.

“Is there something important you wish to tell me?”

“I..yes.” Davhalla said, her hands shaking, losing her nerve. “First, I need to let you know that I’ve thought carefully about this...”

“No you haven’t,” Da’enansal grumbled under his breath.

Davhalla shot a glare his way but continued, “And I need to leave. To stop Fen’harel and help -”

“What?! You cannot leave us to fend for ourselves,” Ellathim yelled at her, loud enough for the others to hear. “You are a Keeper, you have a duty to us, to your clan! You cannot go off on a whim at your leisure! Did you tell Hana she will assume your duties because you prefer to traipse about on whatever business you personally deem necessary?”

“Enough,” she snapped, brushing her locs aside, blood boiling but her temper hidden under a flat baritone. “I will not argue this further with every single person in the clan. I’m leaving. Hana knows, and she will be fine. You don’t have to agree with my decision. Me telling you before the clan was a luxury I granted to show my respect towards you.”

“A luxury, you call it?!” Ellathim snapped back at her, his gravelly voice spooking the birds as he yelled, “Eshna, may she rest in peace, was a fool to make you Keeper when you disrespect us in this manner!!!”

“You would do wise not to disrespect Eshna’s memory.” Davhalla said, her voice still even, but her anger barely held in check. “She was the one who let the Inquisitor among us when she came to us before. She would demand we aid her against Fen’harel.”

“Neither of you get to claim authority on this!” another voice piped up among jeers and angry shouts from the now approaching crowd, “The last time we welcomed the Inquisitor here, she attacked my son!”

“You mean Fen’an, the son we were forced to exile for killing a clansmate in anger?” Davhalla said, her voice rising along with her impatience, “Fen’an, the son who attacked her first without provocation? I was there, Revana. Do not hurl hearsay at eyewitnesses!”

“And we aren’t supposed to be concerned our Keeper is betraying us?” Revana countered, “Abandoning her duties to help a banal'vhen even after everything she has done?!”

Do you mean after she sealed the sky from demons? Do you mean after she helped to raise an elf to nobility?”

“You know exactly what I mean,” Revana said, her jaw and fists clenched.

“No, I don’t know what you mean,” Davhalla said, with a smile and a slight head turn. “Please enlighten me on what you’ve heard that you feel disqualifies her from her duty.”

Revana grumbled but said nothing, standing in place and crossing her arms.

“Oh good,” Davhalla said, triumphant and beaming, “I was worried it was something that mattered.”

“I did not mean to tell you in this manner,” she continued, “but I cannot protect us from here while Fen’harel still walks among us.”

“And if you leave, da’len,” Ellathim said, with crossed arms and a piercing glare, “we may not be so eager to welcome you back.”

“Then exile me,” Davhalla grabbed her satchel and stormed off, Da’enansal desperately following in one last attempt to talk sense into Davhalla.

“Please sister! Don’t leave us!” Da’enansal hugged her tightly, strong arms wrapped around her middle, trying to stifle his tears. “You can’t do this alone. It’s not worth exile!”

“You’re not a child any longer, lethallin,” Davhalla said with a sigh, her tone softened, hugging him back, “You’ll be fine. And so will I.” She grabbed his shoulders and gave them a gentle squeeze and planted a soft kiss on his forehead. “I need to do this. You’ll understand. And I promise I’ll come back.

As she prepared to embrace him one last time, a stream of arrows whizzed by them. Davhalla grabbed her brother, threw up a barrier to protect them both and raced back towards the hearth.

Another round of arrows and Elllathim cried out, with an arrow and a rapidly spreading pool of blood in his belly. Hana was buckling under the weight of so many arrows, her barrier threatening to give way.

They could not fall.

Davhalla erected another barrier that covered the camp, straining from the effort.

"HANA!"

Hana summoned all of her will, and threw a fireball at the source of the volleys as Davhalla dropped the barrier. Shrieks and the smell of burning bodies pierced the air.

"Hunters!"

A return volley of fire arrows from the Dalish who scrambled to secure weapons met the archers on the hill as Davhalla temporarily dropped her barrier. More screams, more shrieks, followed with elven curses.

"Show yourself, you cowards!" Davhalla screamed, beads of sweat dripping down her now pallid face.

"Fen'harel take you!" A lone voice responded, followed with a blast of fire raining from above.

Davhalla screamed in pain as she willed the barrier to hold, as she began to buckle under the weight of fire and fury, as Hana tried to reinforce her but failed to summon more mana, throughly spent.

"You…won't....win!" Davhalla detonated the barrier, sending the attackers flying backwards. The hunters followed with a final volley of well-aimed arrows, and the voices of the opposition were finally silenced, followed by the falling of the final bodies and groans from the dying.

"Take who you can alive. Kill the rest," Davhalla said, and the hunters quickly rushed the hill, scrambling up the rockface and quickly killing who remained alive, which was few. Davhalla ran to Ellathim's side, hoping to heal him.

It was too late. His body was warm but he was covered in blood, his pale skin now white as bleached bone. The hearthmistress and Hana rushed to the rest, desperate to save who they could. Some were injured, but all could be saved. For now.

"We got one alive," the hunters cried out as they flung a squirming body down the hill with a shout, hands and feet hogtied like prey, head bleeding and body scratched from her descent. Davhalla stared into her face, which was contorted from pure spite and lust for blood.

Davhalla nearly gasped at the sight of the woman that lay before her. She remembered her face, eyes set wide like a snake, that fled to fight for Fen’harel when he had risen. Instead, she glared at this traitor before her, restraining the urge to spit in her face.

"Tamriel."

She smiled sickly, her teeth bared and bloody, and her tone haughty.

“You cannot prevent the inevitable.”

* * *

 

‘Manehn and Mirwen, both throughly spent from weeks at sea, reluctantly bade themselves to walk up the long stairs to Hightown and towards Viscount’s Keep, their entourage faithfully falling behind to protect them, and saving them the small mercy of walking so many steps at a pace all were used to. ‘Manehn and Mirwen both chuckled at their exhaustion, their disheveled hair, and at ‘Manehn’s dark circles and great relief from the rocking boat and churning waves that left her below deck and horribly seasick for the entire stretch of the journey.

“I’m sure we look terrible,” Mirwen said with a small laugh, “is he even gonna recognize us or think we are beggars with uncanny resemblances.”

“Da’len, Varric and I have been in terrible battles together. I don’t wanna mention what you get covered in when you’re fighting demons. And giant spiders. Gods, the smell…”

Mirwen laughed at that, both falling into a comfortable silence as their entourage opened the great vaulted doors , both cherishing that small moment of genuine comfort and connection.

“‘Manehn! Long time no see!” Varric said, strolling towards his guests with a beaming smile and outstretched hands. “Welcome to Kirkwall! Always a pleasure to see you!”

“You know, it’s been years since you’ve visited your estate, Lady Lavellan. And you still owe me a game of Wicked Grace.”

“You know I’ve been busy,” ‘Manehn said with a small chuckle.

“Ah, excuses, excuses! You should visit more often,” Varric teased. “I promise, Kirkwall will grow on you. Like a tumor.”

“Thank you for the gracious welcome,” Mirwen addressed him, “I am grateful for the privilege and for your assistance.”

“You don’t need to be so formal, sugar plum,” Varric said with a chuckle, “it’s good to see you too. Last time I saw you, you were shorter than me! And my hair wasn’t so gray, so you know how many years it’s been.”

“But I’ve got some bad news for you. And I would’ve never told you to bring Mirwen if it was going more than ‘an ordinary day in Kirkwall’ type of bad.”

“And has it?”

“I’ll give you a summary and you tell me.”

Varric offered a seat to ‘Manehn and Mirwen before sitting down himself and carefully folding his hands in his lap with a long sigh and a pained expression. The sun-streams that shined from the window beside him highlighted his gray streaks, 5 o clock shadow, and his worn, wrinkled eyes. The passage of time and the burden of command had hit him hardest, she noticed. The small glint in his eyes when he spoke was long dimmed. There were no more tales for him to tell, none without the burden of regret, of remorse, of pain. And this story was his darkest yet.

Human servants went to noble chambers and discovered slit throats and missing elven servants. Alienage and Dalish elves were attacking Kirkwall merchants, guardsmen, any human they could. They struck from nowhere but seemed to be everywhere. One elf had attempted to assassinate the Grand Cleric. Two others had tried to assassinate Varric. Nobles were thirsting for a purge, the alienage rioted day and night, their great wooden gates always closed, and Varric was resisting the calls for purge adamantly, as best as he could. Aveline was attempting to keep order, without success. Even worse, his spy network had been demolished.

But he still had enough intel, and common sense, to know who was behind this chaos.

“Solas,” ‘Manehn said, her jaw clenching as she forced herself to speak his name.

“That’s right,” Varric said, with a mirthful laugh, “Chuckles got very busy, very recently. We’ve been blindsided, and I honestly have no clue how any of us are gonna fix this mess.”

“The only reason he can move so freely is because of the eluvians,” Mirwen said, “Without the eluvians, he would be crippled.”

“She’s right.” ‘Manehn said, “Varric, you told me about Merrill. Your friend...”

“And what about her?” Varric asked.

“I need to find her.”

“Last I remember, she went back to Ferelden, to the forests in the East,” Varric said, leaning back in his chair. “She wanted to start rebuilding that damn eluvian from scratch again.”

“Again?” Mirwen said, almost jumping out of her seat, “she built an eluvian by herself?”

“Not quite, sugar plum,” Varric said with a long, world-weary sigh, “She tried to. With blood magic and a demon’s help. She failed and got her Keeper killed in the process. And as far as I can tell from here, if it isn’t outright evil, blood magic’s not worth pursuing. That price is far too high.”

“Still, she could know more about the eluvians than anyone,” Mirwen said back, both displeased and unsatisfied. “And as for the price, I would pay anything to end Fen’harel.”

“Watch that kind of mindset, sugar plum. You’re starting to sound too much like Chuckles.” Varric said, with a stern yet saddened tone. “Another guy I knew, Anders, thought the same damn thing. We had to rebuild this city from scratch because of him. You can’t choose who pays for whatever dark road you go down.”

“And that’s if we can even find her, Mirwen,” ‘Manehn gently chided her with a hand on her shoulder. “We have limited time and resources. Maybe I can reach out to a clan in the area, but they’d be just as likely to put an arrow through my chest than speak with me.”

He turned to face ‘Manehn, “That was for you too. You’ve got nothing to prove to us, that’s for sure. But…” he continued, “instead of taking an arrow to the chest from a disgruntled Dalish who wants you dead, I can reach out to the King and Queen of Ferelden. They might be able to help you better than even I can. Kirkwall and Denerim have a good relationship. And King Alistair owes me a favor.”

Varric got up from his seat and ushered ‘Manehn and Mirwen out of his office and towards prepared quarters. “We can discuss all of this a little later in the day, you both must be exhausted from the boat ride,” he said with a small laugh as Mirwen tried to suppress a small yawn and as ‘Manehn’s face turned sour from the thought of churning waves.

“But I’m gonna be real honest with you here. I’m done making friends with apostates.”

* * *

 

‘Manehn had elected to stay and talk more with Varric, but Mirwen had assented to his offer. She was led to an ornate room in the diplomat’s wing of the Viscount’s Palace. Golden dragons glared at her from the entrance way, and a blood red tapestry of the Kirkwall crest hung from across a soft, well prepped bed. Gaunt and and grieving reliefs of people - likely slaves - held up the canopy, a wooden imitation of the golden, grieving slaves that they had passed as they arrived at Kirkwall harbor, giving her shivers. Oddly grim for such an opulent room.

She could feel the pain as sharply as any spirit. She had felt the spirits press against the Veil as she arrived, wailing and shrieking, a horrid imitation of those transported here so long ago, lives and culture shattered by the cruelest of human crimes. Was this the cause of consequence of Kirkwall’s seemingly perpetual troubles? A small act of revenge, of resistance from haunted ghosts? In some small recess of her mind, she hoped so as she saw the golden relief of the celebration of suffering slaves as she stepped off the boat into the harbor built with their bloody hands, and she hoped so as she caressed the mourning wooden faces that were an offensive imitation of their suffering.

She reluctantly laid on the soft down bed and closed her eyes, eager to forget the dull anger she felt as what she witnessed and eager to speak with the spirits and seek a solution.

The Fade was as familiar to her as the grounds of the Grand Cathedral and the Apartments she called home. The trails she traveled were well-worn from close to a decade of seeking the comfort of the spirits. In the Fade, she found the freedom she was frequently denied in the waking world, a temporary escape from the gilded cage she reluctantly called home. She cursed her persistence - her mother would surely never let her leave the Viscount’s Palace for the entire time if the situation had disintegrated so quickly during their crossing of the Waking Sea.

She needed answers.

Answers only the spirits would have.

As she wandered, she always felt an eerie, otherworldly presence, like eyes boring into her back. This was the only thing that perturbed her about the Fade, the idea that others might watch her from afar. Demons were no trouble - she could defend herself since she took her first unsure steps into the world of Dreams at the same time she took steady steps in the real world. The Fade had raised her as much as her own mother and the legions of tutors and governesses over the years. She had been molded in this shifting space and she knew the difference between innocent curiosity and malevolent intent. This was neither, and it never attempted to do more than to watch from afar.

She ignored the ever-present Fade voyeur and continued to search the winding ways, towards the spot where Wisdom dwelled. She found them, a male-presenting spirit sitting on what she willed as ground, meditating. He stood up at her approach.

“Sugar Plum. Sweet small girl in a purple dress runs to me with bouncing curls and a big smile, begs me to tell her another story, sticky hands tugging at my coat sleeve. She’s too old now. Too angry. I’m sorry, Sugar Plum, you didn’t get the childhood you deserved.” He said as a greeting. “The dwarf thought he’d feel better seeing the both of you. He seeks simpler times, not a reminder of war-weariness.”

“I did not realize you could feel the pain of others…”

“We can all feel, da’fen,” the spirit said as they bid her to follow them, “We are naught but feeling - anger, pride, greed, despair. But I cannot heal his pain. I am not Compassion.”

“Sometimes I forget how single-minded you spirits can be sometimes.” Mirwen said with a small laugh.

“We are not single minded. We have a single purpose. As do you.”

“It was not meant in a pejorative manner, of course,” Mirwen said, “I am accused of that quite often myself, mostly from Mother.”

“I made a mistake, I should never have come, never brought her here, never let her help. Everything is falling apart and I cannot stop it. He can’t win, he won’t win, I wont let him. Creators forgive me, I hope I’m doing enough” The spirit said, stopping and turning to face Mirwen. “You are both of a single purpose but you can be perverted just as easily as us. Do not make Vengeance and Pride out of Justice and Wisdom.”

“I would never do such a horrible thing to you,” Mirwen said, placing a hand on Wisdom’s shoulder.

“Never with intent, I’m sure,” The spirit replied, “Nothing makes more demons than war.”

“I didn’t start a war,” Mirwen said, crossing her arms. “Fen’harel threatens your world and mine. Did he ask the spirits if they wish the Veil gone?”

“Fen’harel.” The spirit repeated, mulling the name carefully, “He travels the Fade as you do. He watches. He hears you, hurts because of you. He doesn't believe, doesn't want too. It would change too much. He is part of you, and he hates it. Hates you. You're the same. You want to kill him. He wishes you were gone.”

“We are not the same!” Mirwen snapped at the spirit, turning away and marching back towards the spot where she found him. “He wants to destroy the Veil! He would kill so many spirits if he did such a thing! I would do something so foolish and shortsighted!”

The spirit stopped her with a gentle hand on her shoulder and bid her to turn around. Mirwen reluctantly agreed, still angry with the unintentional insinuation.

“Do not make demons here,” the spirit warned her. “I speak of all mortals in relation to you when I know no other mortals but you. But you both come to this world to seek answers we have found. I have no interest in helping Pride. I have an interest in helping you.”

“Then can you tell me what you know of eluvians?” Mirwen asked, her tone conciliatory, “Please.”

The spirit smiled, comforted. “I am always willing to share knowledge with you, da’fen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this one took a little longer, I've been busy with work and school and I promise the action will be picking up soon.
> 
> Please leave kudos if you liked this, it REALLY helps encourage me to continue writing more.


	5. Old Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natalie's machinations are revealed to Briala. 'Manehn and Mirwen seek Merrill in Sundermount but run into quite a bit of trouble.

She had not been expecting this.

Briala fiddled with the summons in her hand, expectantly and anxiously peeking outside the windows. The small carriage space still made her stomach turn even years after, since the burning of Halamshiral, when she was bound, heading for a cell.

The sight of the palace was familiar, and she took little interest in the gilded gold gates and the statues of lions, mouths open in a snarl. Orchestral music streamed through the carriage windows and the courtyards as the Palace Gates gave away, allowing Briala’s carriage to enter.

It had been years since Briala had seen Celene last, with sad eyes and a gaunt face, looking frail, almost wizened, a skeletal shadow of the Celene she remembered. Those memories of their time together, as confidantes, as lovers, were slipping like loose sand between her fingers. It was almost a small mercy, as the pain of their breakup was nothing in comparison to the pain of betrayal - as she stared out at Halamshiral in flames so long ago, acrid smoke choking her lungs as she was dragged to a jailer’s carriage in handcuffs. As she learned Celene had killed her parents all those years ago, their blood pooling at her feet as she hid behind a curtain in the reading room. The pain of her betrayal was sharper than the pain of their breakup, and though she should always expect it in a place like Orlais, it hurt even more that, at the end of the day, this was all just politics.

Nothing personal.

Perhaps this is why she loved ‘Manehn’s sentimentality. Everything was personal to her. Briala had no other word for this willingness to help her at their first meeting, her eagerness to give Briala the leverage she needed to wrangle a concession out of Celene, accomplishing in one night what over a decade of Briala’s soft whispers paired with sweet kisses could not - recognition and rights.

At first, they developed a working relationship, Celene being, if not supportive, at least hands-off as Briala administered the Dales with a deft hand. The humans groused and schemed and plotted against her because of course they would. They either threw down their tools, packed their wagons, and left or they begrudgingly accepted their new elven Marquise. Those that did not were swiftly dealt with. “Eyes in every corner and a dagger at every throat” was the whispered truth to every human who later dared to challenge her reign. Jests about big ears were told with a tinge of fear behind racist overtones.

And as long as Celene accepted it, so did they.

But Celene’s support was conditional on ‘Manehn having a political mandate, and in the intervening years after the scandal of the Exalted Council, her favor had fallen fast. Whatever political pull she did have came from reverence of deeds long past, or towards the Chantry and her role as Right Hand, the visible arm and instrument of the Divine’s Will.

And Celene wanted nothing more than meddlesome elves to finally fall out of favor.

The carriage pulled over and Briala quickly stepped out, not even waiting for the carriage driver to rush to her door. She ascended the marble stairs quickly, her stomach fluttering with every step. The chevaliers stood at attention, still incredulous at the sight of the Elven Marquise despite her years in power.

_Elves with titles still shock._

She entered the vestibule and heard the hurried whispers of very familiar faces as she approached the throne room: the one who summoned her, and one she hoped to avoid encountering. The guards announced her arrival as they pushed aside more gilded golden doors and as she strode across the marble floors, the clicking of her heels silencing the conspiratorial whispers.

Her heart sank at what she saw. Any hopes that this uneasy peace would remain shattered at the sight of Grand Cleric Natalie at Celene’s side.

“My lady Briala,” Natalie said, her rs rolling with a hint of contempt and malice that seeped into the stone and gold gilding of the overly ornate throne room, “it’s a surprise to see - .”

“Leave us,” Celene interrupted with a small flick of her wrist and a harsh glare, “I wish to speak with the Marquise privately.”

“Of course, your Radiance,” Natalie said with a curt bow and a slightly sour look, the clicking of her heels echoing through the cavernous space as she skittered away.

“Bria…” Celene said softly, greeting her with the pet name she bestowed so long ago. Briala would have winced, but she maintained a perfect stony facade behind an emerald mask. She knew now why she was summoned, and her heart sank at the implications.

“I heard what happened during the celebrations - an attack on the Divine in my palace. It’s fortunate I was elsewhere, and that the culprits were thwarted.”

“Due to the quick action of the Divine’s Right Hand and Arcane Advisor,” Briala said quickly, “but their leader still lives. And we are doing -”

“Everything in your power, I am sure.” Celene interrupted her. Whether it was because of their history or her age, she didn’t know, but Celene saved no flowery words and meandering metaphors for Briala.

Her words, and intentions, were clear.

“But I have to ask if I can trust that this unrest would truly be resolved by a woman with a history of…poor judgment in affairs relating to this ‘Dread Wolf’. And whether this may lead to complications in Halamshiral.”

“You would not find another person in all of Thedas who has more reason and more dedication to ending this threat. Have you found another in twenty years?”

“I am not concerned about her dedication.” Celene said with a slight sigh, “I am concerned about _infiltration_.”

She rose from her throne, meeting Briala’s gaze with steely and stern grey eyes. “I cannot risk another uprising. I cannot risk my empire, and my people, falling to this threat because I failed to act. Not again. I will be forced to act if you and the Right Hand cannot.”

This was a threat. A hard lump rose in Briala’s throat and she forced it back, stomach violently churning as flashes of flickering orange flames and the snapping of wood and steel burned briefly in her mind’s eye, as the memory of ash and smoke choked her lungs. She could see Celene’s fingers twitching at her sides. She was ready to light the torch.

One misstep, and Halamshiral would burn again.

“We will not fail.” Briala said, followed with a deep curtsy. Her practiced perfect mask hid the fear, the anguish, that curled within, a tight knot that pooled deeper and deeper in her chest. Old and new fear mixed and muddled in the pit of her stomach, curling and churning tighter and tighter until she wanted to vomit. She held her head high as she left. Now, with Celene’s leave, she walked out, with new resolve and growing anger.

As she departed, she noted the Grand Cleric clamoring into a small carriage, her face still soured and her hands shaking as she climbed aboard. Briala paused for a moment, out of sight, but not out of earshot.

“Where to, your Reverence?”

“Back to the Cathedral,” Natalie declared with a heavy sigh. “And quickly.”

Briala waited until her carriage departed then rushed towards her own. She climbed inside and tapped her driver on the shoulder.

“I need to get to the Grand Cathedral now.”

* * *

‘Manehn hated alienages.

Her eyes narrowed at the sight of the rotted wooden gates, smeared with grit and grime, rusted locks barring entrance and exit, a cage not even fit for animals. Recovery had come for all except the elves, it seemed. As it always was. She noted Halamshiral still smoldered from the fires that had consumed it over twenty years ago, despite Briala’s adept administration.

Mirwen, however, was obviously disgusted, and scrunched her nose at the sight of the gates. She was not unaware of the privilege she enjoyed, but she could not stand the visceral sights and smells, the reminders of quite how well she lived in comparison to her brethren.

A full complement of city guards followed them, led by Varric and Guard Captain Aveline, who obviously hesitated at the sight of the gates, gripping the hilt of her sword. The templars that followed ‘Manehn and Mirwen took note and gripped their hilts, eyes scanning for any sign of a threat.

“Are you sure about this?,” asked Aveline, eager to avoid any sort of confrontation with any of the viscerally angered elves inside.

“Absolutely,” Mirwen said, “this is the only way we’ll find what we’re looking for.”

Aveline motioned to two guards and they rushed forward, undoing the locks and heaving the gates open. The sight of the entering entourage sent most of the elves scurrying, eyes all watching from windows and shadows, some curious, most angry, bloodlust in their narrowed eyes.

“The alienage has seen the most unrest,” Aveline commented as they entered, “I don’t dare send anything less than a full complement here if I want my guards to come back alive. We’ve been able to maintain order, for now. Checkpoints, curfews, and the like.”

“Gently, of course,” Varric said, at the sight of ‘Manehn’s suspicious glare, “the nobles have been begging for a purge. I’m not giving it to them.”

“Because elves had no reason to rebel beforehand, of course.” ‘Manehn said, sarcasm dripping from every syllable, “how else could Solas amass followers when all elves live such lives of privilege and contentment?”

“That doesn’t excuse murder.” Aveline snapped. “Order must remain.”

“And hopefully,” Varric interrupted, “we’ll find answers in Merrill’s home.”

As they arrived, Varric rapped on the door. Once, twice, but no response.

“Remind me to buy her a new door,” he said as Aveline and another guard bashed the lock. They went first, swords drawn, sweeping the small space for any sign of intrusion.

The house was as sparsely decorated as it was small, but it had obviously been ransacked. A fine coating of dust had settled over a small fireplace and overturned table. Scrolls littered the floor, and scorch marks lined the walls. Amidst the mess stood a broken eluvian, shards still poking out from the frame.

Varric frowned at the mess. “This isn’t good…” he said, almost to himself, “Daisy, what did you get yourself into?”

“Why does she keep a broken eluvian in her house?” Mirwen asked as she went to examine it.

“Beats me,” Varric said, eyeing the shattered remains, “Hawke finally convinced her to stop working on the cursed thing, but…”

“That was foolish,” Mirwen said, wrenching a shard of mirror from the base of the broken eluvian, “we could have used something like this.”

“It cost her her Keeper, Mirwen,” Varric said, turning away from the mirror. “When lives are at stake, some prices are too high. Especially when you’re playing with blood magic.”

Mirwen said nothing, turning over the piece of shattered eluvian in her hands, careful not to rub against the raw edges. The shard hummed with a dull magic, shimmering even in the dark space.

“The spirit said I can use this to scry for unbroken eluvians. It will tell us whether there is one nearby. ”

“And then we destroy it?” Aveline asked.

“Or we use it.” ‘Manehn said. “If it’s active or if we can unlock it, we can trace the paths to a base of operations. That’ll get you a quieter city than breaking one measly eluvian,” she added as Aveline shot her a slightly incredulous glance. “Turns out, smashing all the eluvians in Thedas isn’t much of a plan.”

A tense unease permeated the space as Mirwen worked the magic the spirit had taught her, using the eluvian as a focus. The shard began to audibly hum with magic, bands of light pulsing from the shard, filling the small space with the tingle of mana, setting hairs on end and giving everyone goosebumps.

Mirwen closed her eyes and focused, letting the thrumming of the magic touch her mind’s eye.

She opened her eyes, a satisfied smile in her face.

“There is an active one near the base of a mountain. Past a small forest, near a clearing of some sort.” she closed her eyes, focusing on the scene laid bare before her. “There’s flattened grass there, as if many people camped there recently.”

Varric’s eyes widened. “I know exactly where that is,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

He turned towards ‘Manehn. “Davhalla’s clan was recently camped there. If there’s an active eluvian nearby….”

“Then they’re in big trouble,” 'Manehn interrupted. “We have to go there. Now.” She paused for a moment and looked at Mirwen. “But if we encounter any trouble when we’re there, I want Varric to take you right back to the Keep.”

* * *

Briala frowned as her carriage approached the Grand Cathedral and saw Natalie enter, her mind working to piece together old details and new, to figure out Natalie’s machinations and motivations.

Natalie was ill suited for the Game, Briala noted, but both were all too familiar with the Chantry’s ability to sway hearts and minds from the pulpit. Surely, she had planned a sermon of some sort for this day, an attempt to succeed at pinning the attempted assassination on the Right Hand - what she had failed to do the first night after ‘Manehn had deftly thwarted her in front of the nobles. If she should not agitate from the top, she would start from the bottom, and the whispers would trickle up.

Unless Briala could find some way to take her down.

The interior of the Grand Cathedral sweltered in the summer heat. Streams of sunlight pierced through the stained glass windows, the multicolored lights dancing on the smooth marbled floors. Parishioners sat dutifully on mahogany benches with velvet cushions, gazing up at the stern face of a golden, glittering Andraste, arms outstretched, holding two braziers that burned with incense. Vivid painted frescos lined the entire bottom half of vaulted archways, telling the story of the life of Andraste. Marble statues, their bases lined with gold, stood in between pillars, depicting Andraste’s disciples, Hessarian, Havard, and even Mafarath the Betrayer. And among the austere beauty stood four Revered Mothers, singing the Chant of Light in soprano, their soft angelic voices filling the vaulted ceilings and sifting between the pillars and pews, as worshipers bowed their heads and mouthed the words along, some rapturously, some by rote, but all still entranced by the beauty in their song. It was during this song that Briala was able to slip in the Cathedral without notice, carefully closing the door and shrinking behind one of the stone pillars that graced the entrance.

The Chant came to a close and the Cathedral fell silent, interrupted only by Grand Cleric Natalie’s footsteps against the marble floors as she walked towards a small pulpit. She cleared her throat and regarded the crowd before her.

“All shall know the peace of the Andraste’s love,” she began, raising her arms in reverence to the glittering gold Andraste that stood above her. “And all shall know the Truth of the Maker. For you are the fire at the heart of the world.”

The crowd chanted in response.

“And comfort is only Yours to give.”

Natalie smiled at the crowd, a wicked, hungry smile like predator baring her fangs. “All should know the Truth of the Maker. We know what this means. We will see His return, my children, when his name is spoken in all four corners of the World. Twenty years ago, the sky split apart with magic, our beloved Divine was lost…all seemed hopeless….and in our confusion, in our moment of grief, we strayed from the path of Righteousness.”

The crowd began to murmur, heads shaking, with some confusion. Briala read the crowd and took some comfort in their reactions. Surely they remembered the Herald’s deeds. Surely they wouldn’t turn so quickly? Had she squandered all good will so easily?

“We turned to desperation to the only one who could heal the sky, but ask yourselves: are we safer now with this Herald as the Instrument of the Divine’s Will? Are we better off when we turned Halamshiral over to the elves? One of their heathen gods almost murdered the Divine not a month ago, and we do not question why, at her side, sits a woman who worships them?”

Natalie stood at the pulpit, fists clenched and shaking with her righteous fury as she spoke her sermon to the eager masses that bowed before her.

“They have strayed from the true Chantry, the one that served Thedas for a thousand years! Have we forgotten that she led a movement designed to destroy us? Have we forgotten that this enemy of Orlais, of the Divine, was one of hers? ”

She slammed her hands down on the pulpit, the thud echoing across the Cathedral and forcing the congregation to rapt attention.

“We now bow to elven heathens in Halamshiral instead! We gave them land they did not deserve, land we took and made pure by Andraste’s light. Have we truly strayed so far from what we were? Are we better for it? What next, shall we ask a Qunari to be our next Divine now?”

She laughed at the thought, a rueful, rage-filled laugh. Her quaking voice echoed throughout the Cathedral as the congregants whispered murmurs of assent.

“We brought light to the Dales. We brought the truth of the Maker to the elves, who abandoned the god who gave them life and the Prophet who gave them freedom. By our hand, this corner of the world was touched by the Maker’s grace! And by giving it back to the elves, we let that light grow cold. Worse, we snuffed it out!”

She paused now, gathering her composure. Her last words hung hauntingly in the feverish air, a cold power behind every syllable, a different kind of echo that reverberated among the throngs of rapturous eyes turned towards her pulpit.

“The Maker turned a little further from us when we placed Halamshiral in elven hands.”

Briala watched with wide worried eyes as the crowd frothed with fury at her words. Not towards Natalie, but towards the so-called audacity of it all. She whispered silent curses under her breath, small beratings saved for herself. Of course she had overstretched herself. She had been careless - so overfocused on the Dales, she was, that she had let resentment fester in the capital. Resentment bubbling barely underneath, ready to resurface, all within the earshot of an Empress who had no qualms sacrificing elven lives to save her throne.

Even hers.

Even the Herald’s.

She had to warn them all, and soon.

* * *

“We’re close.”

Mirwen led the nervous group up the summit of Sundermount, her hands still holding the eluvian shard, which began to pulse and glow brighter as they approached their destination. ‘Manehn followed directly behind her, dagger drawn and uneasy with letting her daughter take the lead. She eyed the shard in her hands warily, the thrumming of magic agitating the Well’s voices and stealing her concentration. The five templars sent by the Divine to guard them grumbled as they followed, gripping their hilts. Aveline and Varric marched behind them, stony-faced and silent. All knew their duty, and they would not falter, but all were uneasy at following this mage’s instructions all concerned about where it might lead.

Tears began streaming down Mirwen’s face as they ascended. She quickly wiped them away. Sorrow and Despair pressed heavily against the Veil here, pushing and pulling, warping the Veil around them that threatened to tear at any second. She could feel the hidden pockets of pain deep within her chest, her heart wrenching tighter and tighter with every footstep towards the summit. 

“Are you sure this is where we need to go?” ‘Manehn asked

“The Fade is very thin here,” Mirwen said between small sobs, “can you feel it?”

‘Manehn heard her whimpers and rushed to her daughter’s side. “We can turn back now, you can stay at the Keep, just tell us where…”

“No,” Mirwen said, brushing away still-streaming tears, “I’m fine. I’m safer at your side.”

“I don’t think anywhere is safe anymore, Sugar Plum,” Varric said grimly, “not as long as Chuckles has the advantage.”

“There must have been a lot of death here,” Mirwen said, “for the Fade to respond so…forcefully.”

“It’s always had a reputation for being haunted,” Varric said. “Why Dalish elves seem almost insistent on camping here, I will never understand.”

“Should the Dalish camp in your city then?” ‘Manehn said, voice steeped in sarcasm, “I’m sure the nobles would be more than amenable to it.”

“Fine, you got me,” Varric said, wincing slightly at her pithy remark. “It’s not like the Dalish have a lot of options.”

“Wait….” ‘Manehn stopped and took the lead, eyes narrowed as she scanned the small clearing they approached. “This is a good spot for…”

A dark skinned Dalish elf burst forth from the trees, dressed in Keeper’s regalia, flinging spectral bolts behind her at unknown assailants. She spotted the party before her and rushed towards them.

“MOVE!” she screamed, as a volley of arrows followed at her heels. 

‘Manehn and the rest darted backwards, weapons drawn as the elf joined them, locs sticking to her sweating and fearful face. “You need to leave, now!”, she said through bursts of heavy breathing, “before -”

Another volley of arrows burst forth from the trees, blocked quickly by the elf summoning a barrier. The arrows bounced off the edges of her spectral shield, clattering like rain on a tin roof. 

‘Manehn turned towards Varric and pointed at the templars in her entourage.  
“Get Mirwen out of here!” she yelled at the templars as she and Aveline rushed towards the tree line, taking cover within the forest. Two templars followed. The other elf hesitated for a moment but rushed to their side.

Varric nodded and grabbed Mirwen’s wrist, falling back behind three remaining templars. Mirwen glared at her mother but did not resist, and all five disappeared from the line of sight. 

They made it to the tree line and Varric made it out of sight just before another volley landed in the clearing, arrows blotting out the sky before splintering and seeping into the ground.

‘Manehn turned towards the elf that warned them and shook her head in disbelief. “Davhalla? What are you doing here?”

She threw up her hands in frustration in response as they moved through the trees. Talk would be saved for later. Stealth would not be an option, seeing as Aveline’s and the templars’ plate armor jangled with every step. They would have to face them head-on. Unless…

An elf rushed them, sword drawn, eyes screaming. ‘Manehn sidestepped the man and parried the blade before sinking her dagger into his back. He fell with a loud thud, twitching and screaming in agony, blood pooling on his back and belly. She searched his pockets as he bled out, looking for any clue as to the identity of their assailants. She found a couple scraps of parchment and a shimmering red gem, warm to the touch, glowing like a red ember in the palm of her hand.

“It’s a keystone.” ‘Manehn said in a low whisper. “We’re close.”

Yelling and rustling from the trees signaled a change in strategy from their mysterious attackers. Several advanced from hidden cover into their position, blades drawn. One fired an arrow directly in the helm of one of her templars, sending him stumbling back and falling. ‘Manehn took him down with a flung dagger to the chest. Another lunged forth from stealth, taking down another with a blade to the belly. She turned to attack Aveline, but Aveline parried the blade and cut her down with a firm slash. Davhalla stood behind, hands glowing with mana, firing bolts at the shifting shadows with varying degrees of success. Shadows circled them from the trees, watching and waiting to pounce. 

“We can’t just stand here waiting!” Aveline finally said, eyes darting back and forth at the dead templars and gripping her sword and shield. “We have to move forward or we die here.”

“Then we head for the summit,” ‘Manehn said, bolting forward through the trees. Aveline and Davhalla shrugged and raced behind her, ignoring the sounds of twigs snapping and elven curses as they fled towards the summit. Arrows whizzed by as they raced forwards, hearts pounding and legs aching. 

They raced through the trees until they arrived into another small clearing, and, noticed too late, directly into a trap.

A group of several elves popped into a small clearing, surrounding them. Aveline, Davhalla and ‘Manehn fell back into a small huddle, eyeing them anxiously, weapons drawn.

A leader soon emerged from the small pack, eyes glinting with smug arrogance as she surveyed the three before her.

“We’ve been waiting for you to arrive, and I see you’ve brought friends,” she said, her tone as cool as it was cocky, pointing at Davhalla and Aveline.

“That’s me, going above and beyond,” ‘Manehn said with a wicked smirk and a glare.

“Of course you would court oppressors and sympathizers in your misguided attempts to stop my master,” the elf replied, her voice rising with a cold anger as she regarded the women before her. “You call yourselves Elvhen, but you are a traitor! You serve the shemlen! You serve the Chantry, the very people responsible for the destruction of our homeland!”

“And you serve a madman who would destroy you all to revive a past long dead.” ‘Manehn snapped. 

She scoffed at ‘Manehn’s retort.

“Capture the Herald. Kill the other two.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone for their kudos and comments!!!!!!! I LOVE seeing them and it really keeps me going. I'm sorry I took so long with this chapter, I hated working on this every step of the way but I hope y'all like it.


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